


all that you have wrought

by Eicas



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: ((psa there is no sexual content in this fic.)), Child Abuse, Gen, General Unpleasantness, On the surface, Post-Game, a mix of genocide-demon chara and narrachara theory idk, and chara's way of dealing with it, either way here comes murder and psychological breakdowns shrugs, frisk having a moment of weakness and chara backsliding a shitton, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 05:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6410398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eicas/pseuds/Eicas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After breaking the barrier, Frisk (and their unwilling freeloader) goes back to their biological family. <br/>It hasn't changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all that you have wrought

**Author's Note:**

> mind the tags.

They tell Toriel they have ‘places to go’. You push down the wave of rage washing over you when they dare, they  _ dare _ to- to  _ leave all of this behind _ , and limit yourself to a single snide comment about not appreciating what they have, what they have  _ been given _ . 

They don’t respond. 

For every step they take away from her something inside them seems to shrivel, shrinking at the same pace they descend the mountain slope and get on, of all things, a bus back into town. 

_ You’re an idiot,  _ you tell them, voice filled with as much vitriol as you can pack into it. They still don’t reply. You simmer in silence as they hunch down in the bus seat, watching the landscape pass by without really seeing any of it.

It’s the beginning of the end. 

* * *

 

_ Wow, this place is a dump _ , you tell Frisk as they trudge up to a house that can’t really be called a house - it’s falling apart. Paint is flaking from the walls and the door looks as if an ant could kick it open if it tried hard enough. 

_ It’s home,  _ they tell you, but they don’t sound very convincing. 

They press the handle down, but it’s locked. Their hand is shaking when they raise it to knock, holding their breath, steeling themself in anticipation. It’s a weak knock.  _ If Undyne were here she’d be disappointed,  _ you say wryly. 

_ Yes.  _ For a moment they hesitate, and then, tentatively, they start to say something you reckon is very important.  _ Chara- You need to promise me you won’t- I mean, this is all-  _

But before they get to the point, the door is janked open, and there is a woman. Frisk’s mother, you presume. A  _ human,  _ of course, because that’s what Frisk chose, they came back to humans, to  _ this human in particular, _ rather than staying with the monsters. Remembering fills you with rage again. You want to tear this woman apart for the crime of existing. You want to wrench control of Frisk’s body away from them and go back, live out the life they have  _ tossed aside-  _ but no, that is not your life either, you don’t have the right. Nevertheless.

_ I sure as hell hope you think she’s worth it,  _ you spit as the woman drags them inside and throws words at them, you’re not paying attention, she pulls Frisk into her arms, you pay attention even less. 

This is disgusting. 

All of this is disgusting. 

You barricade yourself as far away in Frisk’s mind as you can, and resolve not to come out for as long as possible. They don’t need you anymore, and you sure as hell don’t want to be here. 

They’re on their own. 

* * *

 

Your attention is not piqued again until some time later - a few days? A week? There is a  _ flood _ of despair from them, wrapped up tightly in horror and dread, so sharp it’s enough to alarm even you. Something’s wrong, you think immediately, for Frisk to be this frightened - you have not felt them this scared since the true lab, or maybe since fighting Flowey - and you conclude that they must be under attack somehow, so you surge to the surface of their mind, ready to counter whatever is happening - but there is no enemy. No danger. They are standing in the kitchen, alone. 

You don’t understand. 

_ Did you do that on purpose-  _ you begin, but fall silent. They’re hyperventilating, you realise, gasping for air and yet not really getting any. Their gaze is fixed at the floor, stuck at one single point, seemingly unable to look away or focus on anything else.

They’ve broken a plate. 

It’s in pieces on the floor, small enough that you don’t think it’d be very easy to fix it. Their hands are dripping with soap water - they must have been doing the dishes. They’re shaking. 

Something clicks in your mind.

So that’s why you were similar enough for you to be awakened by their soul. 

So that’s why they called out to you.

_ I don’t understand,  _ you say.  _ Frisk. Why would you come back here?  _

They don’t respond. Instead, they bend down, gathering up the pieces, not bothering to be careful not to cut themself, and throw them away hurriedly. They’re rushing through the motions, obviously trying to be quick enough that they’ll get done before their mother comes back. You don’t interrupt them, letting them finish in peace, you wait until their shaking has died down a little before asking them again. 

_ Why?  _

_ It’s home _ , they say.  _ It’s home.  _

_ Not one worth living in,  _ you retort, mind flashing with images of a life that is no more, of a life you gave up in exchange for what you thought would be the end of you.

They don’t reply. 

* * *

 

Their mother notices that the plate is missing. She shouts at them for an hour before throwing them in their room without dinner. Their stomach growls as they curl up on their bed and squeeze their eyes shut, trying to sleep. 

_ Frisk,  _ you start, but they interrupt you. 

_ No.  _

You don’t try again. 

You hate her  _ so much.  _

* * *

 

Twenty hours later they are still in their room. She hasn’t let them out yet. The small hunger pangs have turned into the acute feeling that their stomach is an empty pit. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, and you imagine it’s even worse for them than for you.

It still takes you over an hour to talk them into sneaking out. 

_ She always locks the door,  _ they tell you miserably. 

_ So unlock it, _ you say, trying to curb your anger. 

_ I don’t know how. _

_ Let me.  _ They’re too tired to protest. You borrow their hands and a pair of thin scissors and you press one blade into the lock and twist it and hope with all your heart - and it clicks open. You grin triumphantly before reluctantly letting Frisk have their body back. 

_ How did you do that?  _ Frisk asks. 

_ I have my tricks,  _ you reply, even though the truthful answer actually goes more along the lines of ‘sometimes locks are really fucking shitty, the end’.  _ Now come on, get going. _

_ Yeah,  _ they say,  _ yeah, I- Chara? _

_ Yes? _

_...I’m glad you’re back. It's good to- to not be alone. _

_ It was only like a week, you mushy dork,  _ you say, but there is a pulse of warmth from you to answer theirs.  _ Can’t leave you on your own for a second, I swear. Now, really, go. _

They sneak into the kitchen, heart thudding about twice as fast as normal. 

_ Calm down,  _ you order.  _ You’ll give us away if you keep being so nervous.  _

_ I’m  _ **_trying_ ** , they snap, but they take a deep breath and focuses on stepping quietly and opening the fridge without making a sound. 

There’s not much in there, you note clinically. Even so Frisk grabs an apple and shoves it in their mouth immediately, teeth crunching down on the fruit.  _ Take another,  _ you prompt when it’s clear they won’t do it on their own. 

_ She might notice,  _ they protest. 

_ So?  _ you ask.  _ You can take her.  _

The knives are glinting in the light. Frisk tears their eyes away from them, to your great disappointment, but they do grab another apple before carefully closing the fridge door and sneaking back towards their room. 

Their mother catches them by the door, eyes narrow and steely.  _ “Do you think I’m deaf?” _ she hisses to them.

Frisk’s heart skips a beat. They drop the apples. The one they’ve already taken a bite off thuds to the floor, probably getting all kinds of dirty and gross.  _ Well, that’s inedible now,  _ you remark casually, but Frisk doesn’t pay you any mind. They’ve frozen up completely. They’re shaking again. 

Their mother starts shouting.

_ You don’t have to take this,  _ you whisper to them, as they cower from her, flinching as she calls them a stupid, worthless child, as they call them a  _ girl. Frisk, you don’t have to take this. You don’t deserve this. You deserve better. _

_ You can  _ **_have_ ** _ better.  _

They don’t reply, but they’re listening to you now. You can feel them listening to you, even as they try to make themself small and non-threatening in an attempt to appease their mother’s anger. 

_ Does that ever work?  _ you ask. It’s a rhetorical question. You know, better than most, that it never, ever does. 

This time is no exception. The woman’s hand lashes out and strikes Frisk across the face, nails catching on their cheek and leaving a deep scratch. It’s bleeding. There’s no monster food here, and no healing magic, so it might scar. Frisk curls up on the floor, hands cupping the wound. The woman doesn’t even pause to see if they’re alright, she just keeps shouting. She grabs their arm, wrenching them up from the floor - Frisk cries out in pain but she doesn’t  _ stop _ \- and shakes them, tells them they’re  _ lazy _ when Frisk is the single most persevering person you’ve ever met in your life-- 

She raises her hand again. 

_ Frisk,  _ you say. 

Their head is spinning. Judging by the gnawing pain in their stomach, she didn’t feed them enough even before this ordeal. 

_ You’re strong. Fight  _ **_back._ **

_ No, _ they say, and then they stay quiet through the beating, through your attempts to convince them, through the tears painting tracks through the dirt smears on their face. 

They don’t say another word for the rest of the night. 

You, though, do a lot of talking. 

You have a lot to say.

* * *

 

When the sun has set and it is long past midnight, you pick Frisk’s body up from the floor and stretch experimentally, checking for damage as you go. Mainly it’s just a lot of bruises. Nothing that will really hinder you.

_ Lucky she didn’t break an arm,  _ you say. 

They don’t reply. 

But they also don’t protest when you start moving towards the kitchen. They don’t stop you when you go up to the knives. They don’t stop you when you pull one out and test the edge on your finger, judging it to be a piece of shit that will just have to do, during the circumstances. 

You stop and lay the knife down on the counter. You hand the reins back to Frisk. 

_ It has to be you,  _ you say. 

_ I don’t know if I can.  _ But their gaze is glued to the blade. To their reflection. 

_ You can. For both of us, you can.  _ They’re still shaking.  _ I never got the chance to, you know. It’s one of the things I regret the most.  _

They pick the knife up.

Their mother is sleeping. You stand above the bed, staring down at her. You’d say she looks different in her sleep - not as malicious, or whatever - but you honestly don’t think she does. 

She is just as pathetic asleep as she is awake. 

_ She has done nothing but hurt you,  _ you remind them when Frisk hesitates.  _ She will do nothing but hurt others. She is a pathetic waste of air. She doesn’t deserve to live. We’re doing the world a favor, Frisk, by purging it of her nonsense.  _

They nod along to your words, but they feel sort of absent. Even so they raise the knife, resting it on her throat. She doesn’t even stir. You’re not sure if you’re relieved or disappointed. Part of you wishes she’d woken up so you’d’ve had a reason to fight her, because hurting her isn’t enough - you want to  _ tear her apart, _ rip her entrails out and splatter the walls with her blood, cut out her eyes and tongue and hear her choke to death on her own blood - but that would probably freak Frisk out. It’s best to start slow. 

Killing this woman - no, she doesn’t deserve to be called a woman, does she? - is a mercy. A necessity. 

Humanity is evil and it must be destroyed.

This is as good a place as any to start. 

Frisk is still hesitating, wide-eyed and unblinking as the chest rises and falls under the knife.   _ Did you never imagine this?  _  you ask them.  _ When you were lying in bed almost starving. When she beat you so hard you couldn’t stand. Did you never just… want to end it all? Want to make it  _ **_right_ ** _?  _

_ Is this what it means to make it right?  _ they question. 

You shrug.  _ What other way is there?  _

_ Chara,  _ they say,  _ I- I can’t do this, I-  _

You place your hands on theirs, fingers overlapping, not taking control but  _ steadying them _ , tightening their grip on the knife, say  _ it’s okay, Frisk, I’m here. _

_ This way they can never hurt you again  _

_ This way neither of us will ever hurt again  _

and you help them push down, gently but persistently, keeping up your litany of  _ it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay  _

The knife slides through the flesh and carves a beautiful red crescent-shaped curve, and the  _ thing _ underneath you screams, and screams, until you push in harder and its scream dies of into a gurgle, breath rattling in its chest. 

Frisk is barely breathing. 

It’s okay. 

_ I’ll never leave you again,  _ you promise them as they clutch the knife in shaking hands, chest heaving with big heavy sobs even as their heart is pounding so hard so quickly and the one beneath them is entirely still.  _ I’ll be with you always, Frisk, it’s okay.  _ _ You’ll see. You’ll see. _

You help them wash the blood off their hands and change into clean clothes. They scrub for way longer than they actually need to. The whole time they’re shaking, even worse than they were before, but that’s alright, you can handle it. Remembering its face when it realised it was dying helps. 

When it’s time to leave they freeze by the door, feet rooted to the floor. 

_ Frisk,  _ you say impatiently,  _ come on, what’s the hold-up?  _

_ We can’t just- I can’t just- the body,  _ they blurt out,  _ we can’t just leave it there, I- _

_ Yes we can,  _ you interrupt them,  _ and that’s exactly what we’re going to do, and now we’re going to leave as quickly as we can, before anyone catches us in the same house as a corpse. _

They flinch at the word ‘corpse’. You try not to scoff in disdain, but can’t help but throw out a scornful remark.  _ Now’s hardly the time to be getting squeamish, Frisk. Can’t recall you ever being  _ **_this_ ** _ worked up about anything that happened down in the underground.  _

_ I mean,  _ you add when they don’t reply,  _ it’s not like we haven’t killed before.  _

_ I, don’t,  _ they start, paling.  _ That wasn’t real, it wasn’t- we reset. It’s not real. It’s- we  _ **_reset_ ** _ , we can reset now, we can undo it, Chara, help me-  _

_ No,  _ you say. If you could wrinkle your nose, you would.  _ Why the fuck would we do that? Frisk, this is a  _ **_good_ ** _ thing, remember?  _

_ But I- but she’s- _

_ Gone. She’ll  _ **_never hurt you again_ ** _. You don’t have to be frightened anymore. You’re safe. We can go wherever we want, now, Frisk - there’s a whole world out there. And it’s our for the taking.  _

You throw your arms out, lips spreading in a grin almost wide enough to split your face in two.  _ We’re off to a good start, but there’s still plenty more - of course, we have an advantage since we  _ **_look_ ** _ small and harmless - I’m really glad we’re doing this with your body and not mine, you can pull off the whole innocent-little-lamb thing better than I ever could, they’ll never see it coming- _

_ An advantage for what, Chara? What are we doing?  _

You laugh. Well, it’s more like a giggle. Don’t they understand?  _ Making the world safe, of course,  _ you tell them.  _ It won’t be safe while there are people like her still in it, Frisk. Not safe for monsters, and not safe for you and me. So we need to get rid of them.  _

They’re silent. You assume it is in awe. 

_ Humanity is rotten,  _ you continue.  _ We are fixing it.  _

_ We can’t kill more people,  _ Frisk says weakly. There’s no conviction behind it and their voice is brittle and low, but you still feel a spark of annoyance. Can’t they see that this is necessary? That it has to be done? 

Then it hits you: they’re just afraid again. Oh. That’s alright, then.

_ Don’t worry, Frisk,  _ you reassure them.  _ It’ll be fine. I won’t let you be alone anymore, I promise. I’ll be with you forever, every step of the way. You won’t have to be alone.  _

The knife is such a comforting weight in your bag. You’ll have to make sure to find a way to sharpen it soon. Frisk is still scared, you can tell, they’re sort of wavering. You send them a wave of confidence, but it doesn’t seem to make them feel any better.

You shrug it off. They’ll warm up to the idea eventually. You’re sure of it.

_ This time I’ll get it right,  _ you vow to them.  _ I’ll make sure we can finish what we started.  _

**Author's Note:**

> i debated for a while whether or not to even post this i wrote all of it in one go so it is unpolished to say THE LEAST and for a first foray into the fandom it's a bit, um, yeah   
> so basically please do let me know if you liked it cause i sincerely contemplated not posting it at all and itd be nice to know whether i made the right decision here or not


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